


George

by littlemisscurious



Category: Actor AU - Fandom, Actor RPF, British Actor AU, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: AU, F/M, Ghosts, Scary, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6206485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisscurious/pseuds/littlemisscurious





	George

Ever since we came here, ever since I walked through that front door, I could feel him, _the other one_. He was always there, in the corner of my eye but whenever I turned around to look at him properly, there was nothing, just specks of dust floating in the air in this old but charming country house. I never talked to Tom about it, didn’t want him to think me silly, but I wondered if he felt it, _him_ , too. I’d soon find out he did.

 

The days passed lazily as Tom and I spent the mornings in bed, the afternoons exploring our surroundings, and the evenings steeped in red wine, delicious food, and conversation about everything and nothing at all. It was during those evenings that I could feel _him_ most of all, always lingering at the edges of the fire’s shadows, in the darkness by the trees, in the corners of rooms just before the lights were turned on.

I would move closer to Tom, would lie in his arms, still smiling at the paleness of his skin compared to mine while he left kisses on my temple, my cheek, my neck. We were so deeply and utterly in love that time, even more so than before, because we had finally found time to be together. Not just live together - on paper at least as he was gone so very often - but physically _be_ together and emotionally, too. It had been so long since we were allowed this privilege, this intimacy of being with the one we love most in the world. Or so I thought.

 

“I love you so very much,” he mumbled into my ear one night, one of his hands buried in my black curls and his lips gliding slowly along my neck. “I love you, too,” I whispered back, now turning my head ever so slightly to kiss him, deeply and without the intention to stop anytime soon. God, he was a good kisser. The way his tongue played with mine while he held me close gave me goosebumps from head to toe and he made me forget everything else in that moment. It was just him and me, finally on our own.

Until I saw _him_ again.

 

My scream must have echoed through the entire area as I opened my eyes after our kiss and saw _him_ standing a few metres behind Tom. He was no longer hiding in the shadows but stood openly by the patio door, his skin pale and the contours of his body slightly fuzzy as if the night tried to reclaim him again. His face betrayed his pain, as if he was struggling even now to remain visible, but there was more to it than that. Because that face…it was the same I looked at every morning, every afternoon, every evening. It was the same face that I had just kissed and confessed my love to. He looked _exactly like Tom._

 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Shocked and apparently also scared by my scream, Tom turned around, gazing directly in the direction of where _he_ was standing, before he turned back to me. “What is it, darling?”

I could only point and stammer, my finger directed at the figure by the door as he was now smiling sadly and shaking his head, telling me that he was visible only to me. Or was he? Still worried but probably also wondering if I’d lost it, Tom looked at me, his thumb now gliding over my cheek.

“There’s nothing, darling. Maybe you saw a fox or an owl?,” he murmured, trying to soothe me, while his twin still stood there, staring at me with those familiar blue eyes I loved so much. At last, he faded away and I closed my eyes, trying to suppress my tears. What was happening? Was this some kind of nightmare? If so, please, let me wake up now, I begged internally.

“Hey, shh, it’s all good, I’m here,” Tom mumbled, holding me close, his hand running soothingly down my back and arm.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered after a while. “That’s one way to ruin a moment.”

“It’s okay, love. We all get scared sometimes. But I’m here, don’t you worry. I’ll always be here.”

 

But he wasn’t there, not all the time at least. Couldn’t be anyway. I was in the bath the next evening while Tom was downstairs, cooking and singing along to some old tune on the radio. His voice trailed upstairs and I smiled, imagining him using the wooden spoon as a microphone as he so often did at home. A few candles illuminated the bathroom as I sipped my red wine, lost in thoughts about the gorgeous man downstairs that I would soon be able to call my husband.

It felt like a film, like a cheap, old horror movie, when _he_ walked straight through the door and stopped right behind it, one finger on his lips. Funnily enough, I didn’t scream although my hands were shaking and I spilled some of the wine as I placed the glass on the floor next to the tub. _It looked a bit like spilled blood on the tiles_. Silently, he pointed to my towel before turning around. Seemed like even ghosts have manners, too.

My legs didn’t need any encouragement from my brain as I left the bathtub and dried myself off before slipping into my clothes again. He waited patiently by the door, his hands folded behind his back. His white button down was dirty and I could see the door through him, too. It was weird, as if he was there but also wasn’t. And I felt drawn to him in some way, felt the need to communicate with him, somehow.

“You can turn around again,” I whispered once I was fully clothed again. I felt silly for talking to a ghost but when he turned around, he smiled a little before vanishing through the door. Quietly, I unlocked it and saw him standing at the end of the corridor. Downstairs, Tom was now singing along to David Bowie’s _Heroes_ , entirely oblivious to what was going on up here.

 

With a nod of his head _he_ continued walking, up another flight of stairs towards the attic. It was funny but I had never realised there was another set of stairs until now. Slowly, I went up, trying to avoid the cobwebs as I took step after step. It was colder up here and more draughty, too. I pulled down the sleeves of my cardigan before I fumbled for my phone as a source of light.

 _He_ was still ahead of me, only glancing back every now and then to see if I was still following. I was for some inexplicable reason until he came to a halt in front of a small door at the very end of the corridor. Stepping aside, he waited for me to open it and it smelled of damp up here despite the warm climate outside. Once again smiling sadly, he walked in ahead of me and again I followed. Maybe it was because he looked so like Tom, maybe it was because only I could see him, but I felt sorry for him, like I knew I was the only person who could help him, somehow. Except I couldn’t. Maybe he and I already knew that, too.

On the floor stood a wooden chest and he nodded towards it. Holding my phone with one hand, I opened the lid with the other. It was filled with photos and newspaper cut-outs, with an old camera and some other documents.

**_Young Cambridge student went missing on holiday_ **

**_George Hiddleston untraceable after time abroad with twin brother_ **

**_English tourist presumed dead_ **

**_Will we ever find his killer?_ **

**_Tom Hiddleston cleared of all charges relating to his brother’s presumed murder_ **

**_George Hiddleston’s suicide note found - but is it a scam?_ **

Shocked, I read those headlines and skimmed the articles briefly, feeling the eyes of George on my the entire time as he knelt down by my side. What was going on? Was he really trying to tell me what had happened to him all these years ago? And why me? Why not Tom?

I read the last two headlines again and a chill ran down my spine before I looked up into his sad blue eyes.

“What are you trying to tell me?,” I whispered, scared now to learn the truth. It couldn’t be now, could it?

His hand was shaking as he extended it. Obviously, he couldn’t grasp any of the papers I was holding so instead he pointed at words within the articles. Quietly, I read them aloud.

“I….was….murdered….by….my….”

 

“Brother. That’s what he’s trying to tell you, isn’t it? That I killed him,” Tom sighed, sounding annoyed, like someone who’s bus was running late and not at all like someone who had just been accused of murder by his dead twin brother’s ghost. I hadn’t even known he had a twin brother.

 

I hadn’t heard him following me, _us_ , either, hadn’t heard his footsteps on the stairs.

But there he stands, still wearing the red apron I had made him wear the first night we came here. He is no longer holding the wooden spoon, though. Oh no.

 

He’s holding the kitchen knife instead. The large one, the largest there is downstairs. His eyes are no longer warm and loving but cold and heartless as he looks down at me still kneeling on the floor.

I know now what it truly means to be afraid. Unnervingly calm and collected, Tom closes the door behind him while _George_ next to me opens his mouth to let out a silent scream. No one can hear him. And no one can hear me either. Not anymore. Not now that it’s too late. And while I can feel my pulse slowing down and the warmth of my blood seeping through my shirt, I look up at George who is crying silently and I know I’m not the first. I’m probably not the last, either.

_But please, let it not be you. Stay away from him. He means death. One day he means death for everyone who dares to come close to him. So stay away. Stay alive, I beg you._


End file.
